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Cult of the Dead
Bruce and his two friends, Martin and Josh, sat around the campfire in the clearing just in front of the bush. It was around midnight, and they had just finished a night of drinking and campfire stories, now they sat in silence. Bruce stared into the fire captivated by its beauty, the way it danced around warming them in the cold, early morning climate. Suddenly, Max, Josh’s German Sheppard, perked its head up off the ground and stared into the bush behind them. For a good minute, he didn’t move, and just stared deep into the wilderness. Finally, he slowly walked over and lay down on the ground next to Josh. Bruce lent over and picked his shotgun off the ground, tightening his grip on the barrel as he placed it onto his lap. Bruce slowly turned his head to face the rest of the group, the worst it could have been was a dingo. Sure, they were shy of humans but worrying that they had sensed food Bruce was certain they could be attacked. Martin was standing so that he was facing into the bush, his shotgun also in his hands. At six-foot four-inches tall he was an intimidating man. Then, they heard it, the rustling began. Martin raised his gun so that he was ready to shoot at any sight of a dingo. He swatted the mosquitoes away from his face and stared deeply into the bush. Josh was now standing too, hatchet in hand. Realising that he was the only one not on guard, Bruce quickly stood up and turned to face the bush. The rustling sound started to get closer, Bruce didn’t know why but it sent chills up his spine. In fact, it almost didn’t sound like a dingo, but rather, human. “What do you reckon it is?” asked Bruce in a slightly nervous tone that left him embarrassed. “I don’t know, it’s getting late why don’t you two go to bed and I’ll stand guard with Max,” replied Martin, lowering his gun and glancing over at the three sleeping bags laying on the ground. However, before Bruce could respond to Martin’s proposal, Max suddenly leaped back up on his feet. The hairs on his back stood up straight as he began to growl, staring out into the bush. The rustling started again, this time it was at the very edge of it, so very close to Bruce and his friends. Martin and Bruce raised their guns once again and pointed them out into the bush. Then, before any of them could stop him, Max ran off into it barking. Without thinking much of it, Martin ran off into the bush not saying a word after him, leaving Josh and Bruce in silence. The silence was painful and seemed to last forever; the rustling had seemed to have come to a halt and the cicadas had begun to produce their ear-piecing calls again. Bruce’s heart pounded in his chest like a drum, he slowly turned his head to face Josh. A full year younger than both Martin and Bruce, Josh was obviously anxious about the whole ordeal. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and his grip on the hatchet was shaky, as he stared wide-eyed out into the bush. Suddenly, the most terrifying scream that either Josh or Bruce had heard in their life penetrated through the foliage that was quickly followed by two gunshots. Bruce just stood his with his mouth open, unable to comprehend what was happening. John quickly spun around and began to run back in the direction of the road, not thinking to take the car parked only a few meters away from him. He ran in the direction of the road; he was not ready to die. However, both he and Bruce knew that he would never find any cars on a road that deserted at this hour. Bruce leaped into action, opening the car door with force and diving inside. He quickly pulled the keys out of his pocket and jammed them into ignition, the sweat on his hands made his hand tremble, but he could start the car no troubles and drove off in Josh’s direction. As far as both Bruce and Josh knew, Martin could be dead. It was obvious at this point that what he had found in that bush was no dingo, in fact, it was unlikely to be any animal at all. Bruce slowed the car down slightly as he unwound the window with his sticky sweaty hands and called out to Josh to get in. Without stopping the car, Josh climbed into the back and Bruce sped up out of there and turned onto the road. “That was close,” sighed Josh, panting heavily. Bruce continued to drive for only about five minutes, before as he was passing the bush that they were only minutes before camping at, a tall man walked out onto the road. “Martin?” Josh asked Bruce. “I don’t know,” he answered as he stopped next to the man with his back turned to the car. Even when they were this close it was so dark that Bruce was not able to make out if it was Martin or not. However, he decided that he would try and find out who it was. Slowly, he unwound the window a fraction as Josh reached over and grabbed Bruce’s shotgun. “Martin, is that you?” Bruce asked. The man then turned around to face them and just stared at the window. Still unable to make out any facial features, Bruce lent over and opened the glove box pulling out a small and cheap but rather effective torch. He pointed it at the man and turned it on. To Bruce’s terror he realised that this was not Martin. It was no man either. It was a tall human figure, with a cloak on. The hood was off so that Bruce could make its face. It had absolutely no skin on it, just bare muscle and bone. Its bloodshot eyes appeared to stick out from its face and its mouth hung open letting out a loud, deep breathing sound. Josh reacted quickly shooting it point blank in the face, as Bruce attempted to drive off but to his terror the car wouldn’t move. He looked back out the window only to see that the thing outside had absolutely no damage to his face and was holding onto the car door with its skeletal hands with strength so immense that Bruce was unable to drive away. Josh fired at the thing again, once again nothing happened. In a panic, he opened the car door on the opposite side and ran down the road. The thing then ripped the car door off its hinges and ripped Bruce out of the car seat. Bruce kicked and screamed as he tried to escape but it was futile, it then slammed Bruce onto the ground and he passed out. Josh’s heart throbbed in his chest as he ran from the car. He had only ran about fifty meters when he turned his head to look behind him to see no creature there. Bruce was lying on the road, passed out and the door was ripped off its hinges but it was no longer there. Josh continued to sprint for his life. Then he felt it, a sharp, agonising pain in his leg. He looked down and saw the arrow sticking out if it as he collapsed to the rough asphalt road. Adrenaline kicked in as he struggled onto his feet and continued to hobble across the road. However, he did not get far. From the bush ran a group of about 20 or so people wearing masks made from human skulls, they approached Josh. He cried out for mercy only to be smacked over the head by a club and to pass out. Bruce awakened to the smell of faeces and looked around himself. He was in a prison cell, surrounded by bloodstained stone walls; the bars of the cell were made of human bones. Josh was nowhere in sight, Bruce walked up to the bars and looked out. He didn’t know where he was but he could determine that he was underground, then he looked down. The crowd of people that captured Josh were down there, skull masks on, all of them carried a fire torch. The thing stood upon a pedestal and crouched next to him on a leash, wearing nothing but torn rags was Josh. “Hail Father!” chanted the crowd repeatedly as they raised torches. The thing then walked across the pedestal and sat down on the stone-cut throne on the edge. The glow of the torches made its disfigured face look even more sinister then before. It then spread out its arms and exclaimed, “Kill for me, my children!” Josh looked up at the crowd and let out a moan. He was still recovering from the smack to his head earlier and was still rather incapacitated, then sudden five large men from the crowd jumped up onto the pedestal and began to tear Josh apart. Bruce watched in terror as they teared off his limbs and head; blood squirted out down the stairs of the pedestal and onto the ground at its base. The thing then rose out of the throne and placed his hands into the pool of Josh’s blood and then continued to smear it onto his face; the crimson blood dripped from it. It then burst into flames and vanished from sight. Bruce stared out through the bars in utter shock; what could he have possibly done? Then, he heard a raspy voice from behind him, “He’ll be back in ten years for more souls. Then we’ll be next.” Category:Demon/Devil Category:Dismemberment